


we've got alligator mouths and hummingbird wings

by zeitgeistofnow



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Bending (Avatar), Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Found Family, Gen, Platonic Relationships, also we r PRO JET in this house, cw short scene with smoking, past uh jetko zukka and katoph, tattoo artist toph, waiter zuko, written for atla secret santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28321866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeitgeistofnow/pseuds/zeitgeistofnow
Summary: “nah,” he mumbles, around the cigarette, “that’s my superpower.” he snaps his fingers and his cigarette lights, his firebending sending sparks into the sky.the woman grins, looking quietly amused, and zuko feels something click in his chest, like cracking his neck or snapping a pen cap back into place. something about this, about talking to the woman beside him, feels right. not that he’s going to put the sentiment into words. not that he would know how.written for hxhwings on tumblr for the atla secret santa!
Relationships: (background), Jeong Jeong/Piandao (Avatar), Piandao & Zuko (Avatar), Toph Beifong & Jeong Jeong (Avatar), Toph Beifong & Zuko
Comments: 12
Kudos: 64





	we've got alligator mouths and hummingbird wings

**Author's Note:**

> the bending isn't a big deal, i just didn't see how toph could be a tattoo artist if she was completely blind. none of the past ships come up in more than a few sentences (the jetko is probably the most talked abt but that's only bc we actually see jet). this fic is v much centered on toph & zuko. fic title is from friendship song by laura jane grace and the devouring mothers because against me! is still my brand

Zuko puts his hands on his hips, resisting the urge to wrap his fingers around the fabric of his apron- a nervous habit, one that Piandao passively critiques whenever he notices Zuko doing it- and looks at the pair in front of him.

“Thank you so much for dining with us tonight,” he says, attempting a smile. One of the women- the taller one, with pale skin and light brown hair in twin buns- smiles back, eyes twitching awkwardly to his scar and then away. Zuko tries a little bit harder with his smile. “What can I get you two?”

The taller woman looks down at her menu and drags a finger through the entrees. “Ah, can I have the, uh, ramen, please.” She smiles pleasantly up at Zuko. “Thank you!”

Her date- Zuko assumes, they look too different to be blood siblings and there’s an energy between them that suggests that they aren’t as familiar with each other as siblings would be, anyway- is not nearly as smiley. She’s much shorter, with floppy hair shaved on the sides in front of her ears and long behind. Tattoos twine up almost every part of exposed skin on her, a dragon dancing down her sleeve from behind the strap of a tank top, a lit match tucked over her ear, the flame dancing where her hair is shaved. She doesn’t look up at Zuko as she orders. “What’s your best noodle-y dish,” she asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question. God, Zuko hates when people demand things of him.

“The tsukimi soba is fine,” Zuko says shortly, and the woman nods, eyes narrowed a little at the spot on the table she’s been staring blankly at this whole conversation. 

“I’ll have that, then. Extra whatever you can put in it that will make it spicy. Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” Zuko says, trying to keep the sarcasm in his voice private before spinning on his heel to get back to the kitchen.

“Table seven’s date is going  _ awfully,”  _ Jet murmurs, arms crossed over the half-wall separating their sections. He looks handsomely wind-swept, even though it’s not a busy day and the air in Piandao’s restaurant has always been best described as  _ stagnant.  _ Zuko narrows his eyes.

“My table seven or yours.”

“Yours,” Jet says, nodding his head at the table with the two women. “I’ve had to walk past them a few times to grab extra silverware from your station and tattoo woman there hasn’t been able to get a word in edgewise.”

“Oh,” Zuko says. “That sucks.” He doesn’t actually feel too bad for her- she’d been rude, and Zuko can be just as vindictive as anyone else.

“Seriously,” Jet says- he’s always more bold about gossiping about their customers than Zuko, and he always takes Zuko’s silences as invitations to keep talking. Not that that’s not what they are. “I’m surprised she hasn’t metalbent a fork through the other woman’s eye there.” He mimes stabbing himself.

Zuko winces. “Seriously, Jet, lay off the eye trauma.”

Jet glances back to Zuko, face blithe and unbothered. Still, Zuko knows he won’t make the same mistake again. “Shit, sorry. Anyway, I’m not surprised- things never go well when one person has a shit ton of tattoos and the other doesn’t have any. It’s like, indicative of your Myers-Briggs type and stuff. Means you’re incompatible.”

Jet has intricate tattoos up both arms and dozens of shitty stick-and-pokes on his thighs. Zuko’s skin is unmarred, as his father would like to say, or an empty canvas, as Jet would like to say. Except for his scar. “I don’t have any tattoos and you do and we have basically the same Myers-Briggs type.”

“Okay, maybe it wasn’t about the Myers-Briggs types.” Jet shrugs, unbothered. “I’m just saying, there’s a reason we only lasted a month and it just might have something to do with your lack of tattoos.”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “I’m planning on getting one,” he says.

“Huh,” Jet says, and Zuko can almost see him processing the sentence. Sometimes he wonders how much of what other people say Jet actually registers and then how much of  _ that  _ he deigns important enough to care about. “Wait, really?”

Zuko nods.

“Shit, man, that’s awesome! Any plans for what?”

Zuko shrugs. He doesn’t, really, had just decided after another weirdly tense conversation with his sister that all he can do at this point is try. He’s thought that getting a tattoo would be a good peace offering. That had always been one of the few things that Azula would argue about with their father- her habit of doing artful stick and pokes in the bathroom of Mai’s parent’s penthouse- and Zuko had always taken their father’s side. Both as a desperate bid to gain the upper hand and as a kind of elitist revenge- I am better than you in this, because our father says so and since I am better you are  _ worse.  _ “I dunno. Probably something in black and white, because I dunno if I can afford color.”

Jet nods, obviously thinking. “Well, you  _ have  _ to go to JJ’s Tattoos- he gave me my first tattoo when I turned 18 and, like, I’m not sure he’s still the one doing tattoos but I’m sure his apprentice is just as good.” He looks thoughtful. “The guy was like, completely white-haired back in the early 2010s, I can’t imagine his hands are still steady enough to be actually working anymore.”

“Which of your tattoos did he do?” Zuko asks. He has almost all of Jet’s tattoos memorized- stupid things to know, of course, but Zuko was always good at retaining the most useless memories and forgetting the rest.

“The big one on my back-” the wings, pouring with wax and wrapping around to the sides of Jet’s ribs- “the flame on my calf-” usually covered with leg hair, but pointillist and intricate, all of the tiny dots resisting the way they bled together as Jet aged- “and, uh, I think he did the sun on my neck.” Jet looks pensive. “Maybe some others? Those were the biggest, though. He mostly does black and white and his rates are reasonable- at least, they were when I got my last tattoo from him.”

“Huh.” Zuko says, “I mean, I didn’t have plans for anywhere else I was going to go.”

“Bro,” Jet says, shaking his head, “you need to get some actual friends, like, other than me. I’m not the only one with opinions on tattoo parlors.”

“I have  _ plenty  _ of friends,” Zuko bites back. Not that that’s necessarily true, and Jet knows it, but he doesn’t have to go around  _ saying  _ that Zuko’s lonely. 

Piandao walks over to them, hands linked behind him and hair up in a perfect topknot. He’s developed more wrinkles since Zuko quit his job with his father to work at his restaurant, but his face curves into the same chiding smile when he sees Zuko and Jet slacking. “Boys,” he says, and Zuko and Jet would both kill anyone else for referring to them as anything as childish as a boy, “as much as I would love to hear more of Jet’s tattoo parlor recommendations, I have to ask you both to keep doing your job. Table ten is getting impatient.”

Jet tosses Piandao a wink over his shoulder. “Already on it, old man,” he chimes. Zuko rolls his eyes and straightens, turning to face Piandao. 

The man offers him a smile and a dessert menu. “Table seven’s date seems to have departed early- please offer her a dessert on the house. She is a… friend of my husband.” Zuko tries not to let his ears visibly perk up- Piandao was a family friend when Zuko was very young, before his falling out with Ozai, and then he was probably the closest thing Zuko had to a father after Zuko’s own falling out with Ozai, but Zuko has still never collected enough clues to figure out who, exactly, Piandao’s husband was.

“Oh?” Zuko says, trying for passive and landing more on ‘why is this 28 year old man’s voice so high.’ He accepts the menu, holding it both hands.

Piandao laughs. “Indeed. And, if you really are planning on a tattoo, I must say I endorse Jet’s suggestion. Jeong Jeong no longer tattoos, but his old apprentice is rather good at her job.”

How does Piandao know this. Does he have  _ tattoos  _ under his long sleeves? Zuko has to admit that even for working with the man and for having coffee with him frequently- weekly when he was younger, now semi-monthly- he’s never really seen Piandao without a dress shirt on. 

Zuko can tell Piandao can see the questions bumbling in his brain and he holds up a hand. “Please, get to table seven.”

“I- yes, of course.” Zuko nods. 

The woman at table seven is, now that Zuko looks closer at her, no older than Zuko and rather artful her indifference to the fact that her date has obviously stormed out in a huff. There’s a cane folded up on the seat next to her, an empty bowl of soba in front of her and a half-full bowl of ramen across the table. Zuko braces one hand against the table as he offers her the menu. 

“I can’t read this,” the woman says immediately, handing the menu back to Zuko. “Just give me your favorite.”

“You-”

“I’m blind,” the woman says, turning in his general direction and waving a hand in front of her face. She raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t notice earlier?”

Fuck, Zuko sure didn’t. “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. No, I didn’t.”

The woman huffs a laugh and swipes a chunk of ratty bangs out of her face. “Don’t apologize. My date didn’t either, and you’re reacting much better.”

“She didn’t-” Zuko thinks he’d be observant enough to notice his date was blind after what was at least half-an-hour, but to each their own. Maybe he was a bit harsh to this woman in his initial pegging of the two.

“Well, not from my tinder profile.” The woman waves a hand. “It doesn’t matter.” She tilts her chin up and gestures vaguely. “Please, I’d like one of your  _ finest  _ desserts whose name I would recognise.”

“It’s on the house,” Zuko blurts. “We’re sorry your date went poorly.”

The woman’s face sours, but in a way that makes Zuko feel like they’re in on the same bad joke. “Ugh, I know. Even left me to pick up the bill. Tell your boss thanks.”

“Of course,” Zuko says.

His shift ends only ten minutes after the woman leaves, and Jet shoots him an elaborately mimed gesture that Zuko’s pretty sure means  _ call me once you have a tattoo consultation,  _ but could also mean  _ come over to my house tonight.  _ Zuko just raises his eyebrows back, a gesture that he hopes is vague enough to say yes to the tattoo chat and no to hooking up. The wink Jet shoots him back clears nothing about the exchange up, and Zuko sighs as he tugs on his long wool coat. 

_ Men. _

It’s a brisk walk from the back door of the restaurant to the parking tower where Zuko’s shitty car is, and the world stays almost completely silent for all of it, up until Zuko spots his car across the ramp and is stopped by someone shouting, “Hey, pretty boy waiter, didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Zuko stops and looks around, finally spotting the tattooed woman only by the glow of her cigarette. She’s sitting on the edge of the ramp, leaning against the railing with one foot braced on it and the other on the cement floor. 

Zuko meets her eyes slowly. They’re pale, almost milky gray where her complexion suggests they should be the same deep brown that Zuko’s are. They’re not quite looking at Zuko, either, and he remembers with a start that that’s because she can’t see out of them. Probably should have remembered that a second ago. “Me?”

She raises her eyebrows at nothing in particular and gestures toward herself.

“Yeah, you! I was hoping I’d run into you again, you don’t seem half-bad.”

“Uh,” Zuko says, spinning his keys around his fingers, “thanks.”

“Come sit by me,” she says, “unless you’re going somewhere. I promise I’m not a serial killer.”

“I didn’t think you were,” Zuko laughs, finally wandering over to her and leaning against the railing. He’s not sure if lesbians are really serial killers, especially blind Earth Kingdom lesbians. Like, sure, anyone could be a serial killer, and Zuko doesn’t like to stereotype, but whenever he hears about true crime it’s always straight men. “How’d you know it was me?” he asks, looking down at her.

“I always know,” she says simply. “It’s an earthbending thing. That’s how I get around a lot of the time, although I’ve still got my cane for when I’m tired.”

“Neat superpower,” Zuko says, shuffling a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and sticking one in his mouth.

“Do you need a light?” the woman offers, and Zuko shakes his head before remembering she can’t see him.

“Nah,” he mumbles, around the cigarette, “that’s my superpower.” He snaps his fingers and his cigarette lights, his firebending sending sparks into the sky. 

The woman grins, looking quietly amused, and Zuko feels something  _ click  _ in his chest, like cracking his neck or snapping a pen cap back into place. Something about this, about talking to the woman beside him, feels  _ right.  _ Not that he’s going to put the sentiment into words.

“I’m trying to quit,” he says, and the woman laughs.

“Me too, man.” She shakes her head. “That date sucked, though, I needed some catharsis.”

“Yeah,” Zuko sighs, “I haven’t been on a date in months.”

“Well, honestly, I’d say keep that streak going as long as you can. Family is better.”

Zuko makes a face. “Not mine. I’d rather hang out with my ex than most of my family.”

The woman takes a slow drag of her cigarette and stares at the near-empty parking lot for a moment. “Not that family, idiot,” she says finally, then gestures vaguely behind her at the sprawling city, “ _ that  _ family.”

They chat for a while longer, until the woman grinds her cigarette out on the concrete and says that her not-dad-not-boss is coming to pick her and his husband up once his husband’s shift ends. Zuko nods and, because he can take a hint, says goodbye and gets into his car to go back to his empty apartment. 

He figures he’ll never see the woman again and that potential seems weirdly painful. Maybe Jet was right about him needing more friends.

**:**

Toph doesn’t sit on the counter of JJ’s Tattoos while the store is open, because Jeong Jeong thinks it’s impolite. Jeong Jeong doesn’t care about politeness with anyone but his clients, which Toph doesn’t  _ respect,  _ but she understands. She doesn’t care about politeness with anyone, but she cares about Jeong Jeong and if expressing that means obeying his bullshit rules in a business that she all but owns, she’ll do it.

She’s- well, indebted to Jeong Jeong isn’t the right word. He’s caused more problems for her than he’s solved- her parents had been pissed when she’d come home with her first tattoo from him, less mad with her second and third and forth, and then practically cataonic with rage when she’d announced that she was dropping out of college to apprentice with the weird, gay, ex-Fire Nation military guy who did her tattoos.

But, still, she loves her life and she owes a lot of it to the old man sitting behind the desk with her.

“Yo,” she says, “saw your husband yesterday.”

“Yeah,” Jeong Jeong says, drawing another half-sketched line on the tattoo concept no one will ever get because he doesn’t do tattoos on anyone but himself, Toph, and maybe Piandao anymore, “you went to his restaurant. What’d you expect.” Toph can hear the scritch of the pencil, can feel the design the graphite makes. If she concentrates enough, she can sense the graphite enough to pull together the full picture.

“He gave me a free thing of mochi because my date decided she couldn’t handle a traumatized tattoo artist with attitude problems.” Toph says, kicking her feet up onto the front desk and leaning back in her chair.

“I don’t blame her,” Jeong Jeong says, blowing the pencil dust off his paper, “neither could I.”

Toph scoffs. “Like all those things don’t also apply to you.” You put up with me every day, she doesn’t add, because she knows it’s unnecessary. Jeong Jeong’s the closest thing to a father figure Toph has at this point, and he knows it. 

“What can I say, Piandao’s a saint.”

“Yeah,” Toph says, “I would’ve divorced you decades ago.”

“Because of my additude problems,” Jeong verifies, “not the fact that we’re both gay and I’m 35 years your senior.”

“No, no,” Toph says, “those are both advantages. A lavender marriage with a man whose money I can slowly steal is ideal. I can’t do that with a straight guy my own age.”

“Do I have to check the shop’s finances?” Jeong Jeong asks, faux-concerned.

“Ha ha, old man.” Toph metalbends a spare pen into a smooth mess of metal and uses it to slowly pick the crud out of the treads of her boots. She can feel the resonations of people walking outside and the bass vibrations of the music Jeong Jeong’s playing, almost louder than the music itself. They used to fight over the parlor’s playlists, but over the last decade their music tastes have slowly melted into one. “If I wanted to steal from someone, it wouldn’t be from you, it’d be from-” Toph waves a hand vaguely, hoping it encompasses everyone else she knows.

“Oh, yeah,” Jeong Jeong agrees, “your  _ wealth  _ of friends. Like  _ all  _ those friends you kept when you dropped out of school.”

“Whatever,” Toph says, “I’ve got Sokka and Suki and Katara and Aang and like, Katara’s kids- I’m an  _ auntie,  _ I don’t need any more friends.” She picks a pebble out of her boot and tosses it onto the ground.

“Okay, so, your ex-girlfriend and her husband and kids, your ex’s brother and  _ his  _ wife, and, what else- oh, yeah, that was it.” Toph can’t see, but she can still feel the deadpan expression Jeong Jeong’s giving her.

“Whatever, man, that’s seven people.”

“That’s  _ family,”  _ Jeong Jeong says. 

“They’re still my friends! Just because you have your Pai Sho group of old men who aren’t related to each other at all doesn’t mean that my friends have to be like, not part of my college ex’s family.” Toph would barely categorize Katara as an ex anymore- she’s not sure she ever would have. Their friendship had always seemed more notable than their short relationship. 

Toph picks another rock out of her shoe and tosses it at Jeong Jeong

“Don’t do that,” Jeong Jeong chides, “we have a customer.”

“We-” Toph focuses a little more on something other than background noise and the dirt in her Harley Davidson boots and realizes that yes, there is someone directly in front of her. He doesn’t have any tattoos- Toph can’t feel any of the metal traces that always criss-cross tattooed people- and the way his blood flows suggests good posture, late 20s, wearing a chest binder. Exactly like the waiter at Piandao’s restaurant. 

Toph had liked the waiter- they’d clicked, she thinks, the same way she clicked with Katara and Aang and the rest. She’s glad to see him again.

“Hey,” the man says, “I know you both.” His voice is raspy and a little uncertain. “Uh, you had dinner at my dad’s-” he suddenly has a coughing fit, embarrassment etching itself across his words, “- I mean, at Piandao’s restaurant. He’s not my- uh, anyway.” The man’s voice changes slightly as he turns to look at Jeong Jeong. “And I know you somehow, too.”

Toph furrows her brow and waves a hand in Jeong Jeong’s direction.  _ Does he not  _ know  _ you’re married to Piandao?  _ she manages to convey. Jeong Jeong’s response is an equally vague  _ mmph  _ noise, which Toph takes to mean  _ Piandao is an incredibly personal man and it took me three years to figure out that he had any tattoos.  _ She figures that’s fair. Still, for a guy calling Piandao his dad, even in a Freudian slip, that seems like something waiter dude should know.

“Yeah, I did. You’re cool, I was hoping to run into you again,” Toph says. Maybe she does need more friends- well, she doesn’t  _ need  _ more, no matter what Jeong Jeong says, but it couldn’t hurt to have more. Sokka has Yue, Suki has her softball team, Aang has all of the random people he meets places who immediately adore him, Katara has Yugoda and Jin. Toph should probably have other friends too. “I’m Toph,” she says.

“Zuko,” the waiter dude responds. “I’m here for a tattoo- I’m glad you’re the tattoo artist, you seem neat. I thought I wouldn’t get to see you again.” He shifts his weight. God, this guy is awkward when he’s not working. Toph loves it. “Piandao recommended your parlor. So did Jet- do you know them?”

Toph knows Jet distantly- he seems okay. He stopped getting tattoos from them a few years ago, but he comes in with different constellations of college students every few months, holding their hands while they get their tattoos done and joking with Jeong Jeong.

“I do know Piandao,” Jeong Jeong says lightly, “he speaks highly of you.”

Zuko preens a little, making a pleased humming noise. “He’s, uh, very important to me. I’m glad- it doesn’t matter. How do you know him?” There’s a mild tension in the air that Toph’s learned to recognize over the years: Jeong Jeong is staring Zuko down as he decides what to tell him. Toph knows his glare is intense, even though it’s not necessarily because of something Zuko did, so she takes pity on him. 

“He’s his-”

“We play Pai Sho together,” Jeong Jeong says finally. Obviously he’s either decided to respect his husband’s privacy or he’s just decided it’s funnier this way. Either way, Toph will respect it.

“Oh!” Zuko says, sounding a little less nervous. “You must know my uncle, then. He plays Pai Sho with Piandao, that’s actually how I met- well, I mean, it was actually through my father, but I-” Zuko slowly trails off as he speaks. Jeong Jeong stays politely silent. Toph feels like she’s missing something here, but it’s  _ definitely  _ not her job to pry into her client’s personal lives. 

“So,” Toph says, “are you here for a consultation?”

Zuko sounds relieved to be saved from his spiralling sentences. “Yes! Yes, thank you.” He chuckles. 

“Okay,” Toph says, trying to make her voice kind- that’s how you make friends, right? Kindness. “Do you wanna just, come back to my office?”

“Thanks,” Zuko says, voice warm. 

Zuko talks with his hands when he’s not playing customer service, Toph learns. He gestures constantly when he’s describing the tattoo he wants- two dragons, shading done in black and white. One on his stomach and the other with a tail teasing at the base of his neck, their noses almost touching. Toph doesn’t ask and Zuko doesn’t offer anything, but she’s sure there’s some deeper meaning beneath them. 

Finally, after drafting and redrafting the drawing a dozen or so times, Zuko makes a quietly delighted noise. “I love it,” he says, “thank you.”

“No problem, man,” Toph says, “I’m glad we figured something out. Hey- my work day is done, wanna get noodles?” Toph loves noodles. The ramen at Piandao’s restaurant was good, but not salty enough. He obviously actually knows how to make ramen well, and that won’t fly. 

Zuko’s stands, stretching. There’s a moment where Toph can almost hear him thinking, then, “noodles sound good.”

“Good,” Toph says, with a short nod. “It’ll be nice to have a friend who isn’t related to Socks or Katara.” It’s mostly to herself, an inside joke with Jeong Jeong who can’t even hear her. 

Zuko’s blood rushes up to his cheeks and he mumbles something quietly. 

“Huh?”

“Oh, I- I mean, I’m not related to them,” Zuko says.

Toph eyes his general direction and hopes he takes the hint.

Zuko sighs. “Okay, so, Sokka  _ is  _ an ex, I did date Katara’s high school boyfriend, he’s the reason I’m getting a tattoo-”  _ Jet, _ Toph remembers,  _ she didn’t know he was Katara’s ex- _ “but I’m not related to them, so it counts, I guess?”

“Spirits!” Toph cries, throwing up her arms and starting to make her way to the door. “This is absurd. Jeong Jeong, are you-” Toph blanches as she realizes, from the way the people in the main room’s feet are positioned, what is happening. She narrows her eyes. “I didn’t put a bench there so that  _ old men  _ could  _ lean on each other  _ and  _ whisper like schoolgirls.  _ You two are sickening.”

“Hm,” Piandao says, straightening but leaving his arm around his husband’s waist- Toph can feel where the metal rings he wears sit, “just because your date last night ended badly doesn’t mean you have a right to mock my matrimony-  _ Zuko?” _

Zuko, who Toph can feel standing just behind her, makes a shocked noise. “D- _ Piandao?” _

“I should have expected to see you here,” Piandao says after a moment of thought, “you  _ did  _ mention planning on getting a tattoo. I didn’t expect you to take Jet’s advice, however.”

“Eh,” Zuko says awkwardly, “he’s not so bad.”

“He isn’t,” Jeong Jeong agrees, “tips pretty well for an anarchist waiter.”

Piandao sighs and stands. “Well, I simply came to collect my husband for dinner. I assume you’re closing up, Toph, and getting dinner? There’s a nice ramen place on 32nd, I’m sure you would-”

_ “Husband?”  _ Zuko hisses, “he’s your  _ what?” _

“My husband,” Piandao repeats, founding innocently bemused. Toph can only barely hear the laughter behind his words. “Zuko, don’t tell me you didn’t know I was married to Jeong Jeong-”

“You never told me and you never talked about him when you worked for my father! I tried to ask him once and he didn’t speak to me for a week, and I didn’t want to- I didn’t want you to- I figured your husband was a motorcyclist or a stunt double from how you always describe him.”

“Not too far off,” Jeong Jeong comments. 

“-And  _ he  _ said you were pai sho buddies!”

“We are,” Piandao says calmly, “with your uncle.”

“I  _ know.”  _ Zuko takes a deep breath and Toph can feel his exhale against the top of her head. “I actually don’t know why I’m so shocked. Um. Congratulations on your marriage, I suppose,” he says, then mumbles, “only saying it twenty three years late.”

Piandao and Jeong Jeong stand almost in tandem, Piandao’s hand shifting to Jeong Jeong’s upper arm. When Piandao talks again, there’s a kind smile in his voice. “Thank you, Zuko. Congrats on your tattoo- you should join me for tea this Saturday. I will pay if you will indulge this old man a pai sho rematch.”

“Yeah, of course,” Zuko says, a little distractedly, “don’t mind losing again. Thanks, dad.”

No one comments. Toph says her goodbyes, and then the bells above the door ring and Jeong Jeong and Piandao exit the tattoo parlor. 

“You called him dad again,” Toph says conversationally, starting to switch off lights with her metalbending and making her way toward where her coat is draped behind the desk.

“I- uh, yeah,” Zuko says, “he’s not my dad, obviously, but my actual dad is a- yeah.” He shifts his weight. Toph can almost see the little pop-up over his head, like in the videogames Aang and Sokka like to vividly describe as they play them.  _ This conversation topic isn’t available until friendship level 6+.  _ Which is fine. Toph plans to get there.

“It’s okay,” Toph says, “my parents suck, too. That’s what friends are for, you know? Like, people you meet and click with- I dunno. Family’s a lot, but it’s not as  _ real  _ as other things. At least, not to me. I can’t see the family resemblances in anyone, I just see how people act.”

“The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,” Zuko mutters, and Toph raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, like that, sure. I dunno what a convent is, but like. I don’t talk to my bio family at all anymore, but I’m still an aunty, and Jeong Jeong’s  _ basically  _ my dad at this point- yo!” Toph shrugs on her coat and points in Zuko’s vague direction.

“Hm?” The doorbell jingles as Zuko opens it and Toph is hit with a gust of cool evening air. 

“This means we’re siblings, right?”

“Mm.” Zuko says, like he thinks everything coming out of Toph’s mouth is stupid but he already likes her enough not to say it outright. Katara sounds like that a lot. Toph grins.

“Man, it was all for nothing, then. I’m never going to get a friend me and Katara aren’t related to.” She stuffs her hands into the pockets of her coat and tosses her head to get her hair a bit more orderly. She can feel Zuko shifting his weight idly and she raises an eyebrow.

Zuko sounds flustered, somewhere between irritated and worried and bemused and joking. He’s still holding the door open, letting all the cold air in. The shop’s always cold when Toph walks in, anyway. “I- well, I apologize-”

“It was a joke, pretty boy.” Toph brushes past him and slips out the door. “C’mon, let’s go get our ramen. Piandao’s  _ never  _ off base with his restaurant recommendations, and if we don’t hurry we’ll be late for our first platonic date.”

Zuko laughs, just a little, something relieved and hopeful, and Toph tosses a grin over her shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> \- i fully forgot iroh existed and got almost all the way through this writing piandao as as zuko's father figure before remembering. ://  
> \- friendship.. 🥺  
> \- you can find me on tumblr [@lazypigeon](https://lazypigeon.tumblr.com/)! as a disclaimer: i don't write/draw much atla stuff anymore (this was just for the secret santa), both blogs are mostly just ace attorney and my various other phases, but you can shoot me an ask about anything! :)


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